


Mercy

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Matthew is a bit touch starved, Mercy spirit!Inquisitor, Not sure bUT, Sweet spirit children being sweet, might be mildly ooc, theres more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Compassion is still silent, still persistent as he waits for an answer. Without pushing, and moreso beckoning in that funny way they both do whenever one is near the other. Echos of songs resonate, ring with reverberations that shake him deeper than those lonely moments he fights to listen. It's like coming home."---The Inquisitor is a Mercy spirit, and has a series of meaningful moments with Cole.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An old fill I did for the kink meme requesting a Mercy Spirit!Inquisitor I found on my old phone. I wanted to do a couple of drabbles revolving Cole and Mercy!Matthew, and finding this has rekindled that want, haha! So hopefully I can, and with improved writing.(because holy moly I feel like I over did it with alliteration)

"We're different."

Matthew slowed his already leisurely pace, brought on by the mundane yet peaceful landscape of the Hinterlands, to glance down at Cole. Compassion stilled at his side, so close that the rim of his hat brushed his shoulder, the worn wool of his gloves itching into Matthew's palm with the tightening of his fingers. Cole hadn't let go, even after the veil smoothed again and what was real was revealed to him. He clutched Matthew's hand, still needing to be grounded, though Matthew hardly minded. He liked musing on Compassion anchoring his mark-free hand, wishing to be anchored. It felt much better than the other hand.

Behind them Solas fell back, content with his distance beneath the cool shade of a scattering of trees, observing them with calm and contagious curiosity. It stirred Matthew's attention back to Cole. 

"Are we different?" Cole's statement became a question, along with his confusion flipping in on itself. Like a mirror reflection ricocheted onto another's. The feelings bounced back and forth and in and it takes him longer to reply. 

This is all brought on by a mild ripple in the veil. He knew what it was before Solas even explained to an overwhelmed Cole, who had looked suffocated in his own skin, sight shifting between the disturbed layers, on unrealities trying to uniform. He was, more or less, used to the currents of the veil, though the rifts did provide more problems. Still, all he suffered was broken breathes, a passing moment of remembrance, reflections already passed pressing reality into his bones. But he knew he wasn't a child, that child whose mother cried the Chant and begged for the Maker's mercy as he choked for life, and knew he was him all the same. 

The moment is only that, he adapted and was fine after a deep exhale. He's used to it. Cole isn't. So he took his hand without question, told Cole to hold firm and focus. 'Breath. Be here. Be you.' The tactic is different to the other spirit, askance adding to acceptance and, after a murmuring of gratitude, leading to their current conversation.

Matthew pursed his lips, a habit mimicked, to mock contemplation. 

"Yes. No." It's not indecision, its...

"Both." Cole finished, looking down from too bright green eyes. "You forgive them for their faults. See the hurt and hatred, banging, burning, bruising...but you don't shake the pearl loose."

"Some things make people more. Pearls come at a price but are pretty-if worn right. I try to..." Matthew waved a vague hand, swinging the other still in Cole's grasp. "Make it manageable. Mistakes make marks, scars. They can dig in and take so much, but also add more."

"You help." The hand tightened.

"I try."

Cole considered that in silence and Matthew's brows pinched. 

"You do the same." He reassured. 

"But I don't always do it right." 

Matthew smiled. "Not everyone looks good in pearls." Cole huffed softly, almost catching the chuckling in his throat, though Matthew isn't sure if he's just picking up on his own amusement. "You shake them loose and fix the fabric. Pinching with the right pressure and pin. It takes a few times and you prick your fingers,” he shrugged. “but practice makes perfect."

"You help." Matthew said, the seriousness of his statement setting off understanding. “And I'll be very happy if you continue to do so.”

"Yes and no." Cole repeated. "I don't really like pearls."

"They are rather plain." Matthew picked up their previous pace, with a small smile to Solas as he caught up to them. 

"All is well, I hope?" Both answered the elf with a 'yes', the cheerier note from a still smiling Matthew. Cole squeezed his hand in response or reflex, emotion arching up his arm. It prompted him to look down.

Before he could ask or pick up on his thread of thought: "Mercy and compassion...Matthew and Cole."

Solas' amused hum was warm. Focusing again on them, elvhen artifacts momentarily forgotten, he chimed in with: "Rather fitting and ironic, all things considered."

Cole actually chuckled that time, titling his head to level an almost endearing look to Matthew, the prolonged eye contact speaking volumes. 

"I like holding your hand."

"Would you like to do it more often? Even when you don't need it?"

Cole blinked. "I...think I want to need it."

The faint smile he gave him already ensured Matthew's instant compliance, and with a light laugh he threaded their fingers together.

"As you wish."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is a mama's boy and is terrified of not being what she wanted. 
> 
> I've finally written more, hopefully it reads okay, I'm drowning in cold medicine.

"Matthew?"

It's questioning, shaking lightly with surprise. Then it goes all inverted, a tug that jerks him almost physically and he clucks his tongue. Having his own hurt reflected and prodded at all at once made the Anchor whisper.

"Matthew...?" Again, with a hitch, then inhale, and he can imagine the eyes on him going unfocused and deep seeing. "Why wonder? It's soft, precious, perriwinkle like the sky and waves, coat tails caught in the breeze."

He's hardly surprised that Cole is the one to find him. He wasn't as light as him, burdened and bearing these selfish wants of his- but he still had a few tricks of his own. He could disappear for a moment, drop from everyone's attention if he pulled hard enough on that part of his self that still wanted to be light, liberated. Less sudden smoke, a pull, and poof, gone. More fog on a mirror, light mist and gently obscuring. Cole knew how to look through the fog before it settled. "It goes bright, makes you shine before it covers you. It's pretty." he'd once said. Solas recognized it too, but Matthew had purposely avoided doing it near the mage this time. 

He's glad it's Cole. Even while his curious empathy tickles at Mattew's mind, soft but insistent. So, he hums, still and content to stew where he lay upon the Templar tower. He tries to twist that contentment into a note of positvity, onto his face before he opens his eyes, but its hard. Hardened, like Bull's vitaar- it's not the type of armor he's going for. Really, he feels like it comes across as painfully constipated.

Hardened, going rough and cracking along the edges. A bad itch. He hums again, lower, perturbed in earnest now.

Compassion is still silent, still persistent as he waits for an answer. Without pushing, and moreso beckoning in that funny way they both do whenever one is near the other. Echos of songs resonate, ring with reverberations that shake him deeper than those lonely moments he fights to listen. It's like coming home. Warm comfort and familiar. He can't bring himself to be annoyed with Cole finding him out and ruining his sulking. 

Even when Cole takes it upon himself to sharpen the particular tune he's been trying to mute. He makes it stick, cascade into a clog, water gurgling, facismile of her muffled tears. Matthew's eyes snap open, his exhale hot and sharp as he sit up.

"I don't understand," Cole mutters, fingers clenching, trying to grasp. The quick look he shoots Matthew is livid, solid on him for that fleeting moment. "It's good, Matthew." 

The hurt twists his face, piercing as he lets Cole only see it catch the corner of his eye. He's not mad, but turns his face from Cole. 

Cole quickly sputters, still confused but determined, and ducks his head. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to sting. But why? You wonder on the black behind it. Sundown and fading, diving, drowning, darkness beneath it all. You wonder, worry. It isn't even bad. You're turning it sour."

The wide shadow of Cole's hat casts a spell of ambiguity. Welcoming, warm, and he wants to unravel. Desperately so, and it's...embarrassing. Knots twisting hot, hotter across his face, frayed ends making his fingers twitch and yearn. He wants to hide beneath Compassion's spell, agree with him on his own silly foolishness and unnecessary moping, open up about this heavy feeling, let it spill.

Matthew sighs again, focuses his attention to Cole's knobby knees on the stone. There's a loose thread on his breeches he wants to pluck free. Unravel, unwork, untangle, he thinks fervently, or maybe it's Cole? It doesn't matter. He knows he doesnt need to mince his words, mold them into another level of comprehensiveness. It's simple. Silly. Stupid, he knows. But Compassion wants to listen, help. Understand. So he spits it out.

"You're not wrong, Cole." He begins, voice breaking before he pauses to awkwardly clear his throat. "Perhaps a bit bold sharpening her hurt so, but I suppose I deserve it. I've done no different running away like that." 

His exhale is heavy. "Things...can always go bad. Have gone bad. When I was smaller I was still learning, fumbling and failing at what was expected. No, no my boy, dear Maker, no. Not my boy." He shudders, memories of nails biting into arms tearing his attention. "Everything was so much louder then, it was so easy to pick out the wrong thing, pluck at something no child's fingers could grasp."

As he speaks, Matthew fully faces Cole. Compassion allows him closeness, as always, when he curls in, gives in, and tips his head down to be shielded by his hat, to keep the words spilling as the knot tightens in his chest.

"I go uncertain, with this naivety of the long night, black like the space between stars. Yawning so wide, sharp when it snaps back shut. So many ways to make a mess of things." He lets his forehead rest on Cole's collar, feather light, and shakes when he feels a hand on his back. It's stiffly done, but calming all the same. "I came through to grant mercy, then love. All these pieces I've taken up since then, they're all crooked. Too tattered along the stitches. I'm trying, but what if they don't fit right with her?"

"But you're wrong," Cole insists, Matthew snorting before he continues. "You know. You're sure. Heavy with it, but more with the mooring. She doesn't mind." 

"Ah, yes. I suppose so." 

Cole huffs than soft laugh of his, "She is your mother."

Matthew sags further into him, saying reverently, "She is."

"It's made soft, precious because of the patchwork. You grew, learned and love." Cole whispers, hand relaxing as it comes along the curve of Matthew's back. It tightens again into a half embrace. Matthew nearly whimpers, hugs him back with more enthusiasm than he means to. 

"She likes the crooked grin, imperfectly perfect. Like at the sea, when you smiled and she knew she loved you." Cole stands, slowly as Matthew releases him, hand resting on his shoulder. His skin raises with gooseflesh, the mark tingles as the veil yields against Cole's body. He's helped, and now other songs ply his attention. "You should go to her, it's been too long and she's worried." He tilts his head, "She knows you don't eat like you should."

Matthew laughs, hard and real, and it all shakes loose. He touches the hand still on his shoulder and looks at Cole, whose lingering makes his chest twist in different, more pleasant ways. He smiles up at him.

"Which means she's probably harassing every poor soul in the kitchens right now. So I better get on top of things then." He chuckles before letting his voice go soft. "Thank you, Cole." 

Cole smiles back, a small, almost bashful thing, when Matthew takes the hand on his shoulder into his own and squeezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next little drabble I want the boys helping folks and baffling everyone


End file.
